Hobbit, Lord of the Rings No Need To Say Goodbye

**Femslash Yuletide 2013 Prompt #2: First Snowfall**

* * *

Snowfall in Edoras was always an occasion to celebrate, especially when it was the first of the season. When she and Eómer had been children, nothing had been able to keep them inside when the first flakes danced down from the sky; they would be out in the courtyard within minutes, laughing. They would scrape up snow from the cobblestones before there was more than a thin layer there, forming balls that burst open in midair, showering them both with feather-light cold.

It had been a long time since then, but Eowyn still liked to stand outside as the first snow fell, letting the flakes brush her bare arms, leaving soft, freezing trails as they melted on contact. And up here on the walls, she could lean out and see the entire plain, brown grass slowly being dusted with white, the falling snow whirling in the wind.

She propped her hands in her chin, elbows on the stone edge of the wall, and stuck out her tongue, waiting for a flake to fall there. That had been a game she and her brother had played––_catch one for good luck_––and she had always laughed to see him standing with his head tilted up, mouth open, looking so incredibly ridiculous.

He wasn't coming back to Edoras this winter, was out on the western march with his Riders. It would be the first time they would be apart for the season.

She caught sight of a flicker on the horizon and leaned forward, squinting. Through the blowing snow, she was just able to make out a single rider on horseback, riding towards Edoras at an easy trot. If they held that pace, they would be here before nightfall.

Before she turned away, she caught a glimpse of fire-red hair as the rider crested a hill, then dipped down out of sight again.

* * *

"A rider, from the north," she told her uncle, and he nodded.

"See to it that they are given food and the like––I must needs meet with Deorwine to discuss matters on the Eastmarch, so give them my regrets." He rested a hand on her shoulder and smiled at her. "Thank you, Eowyn."

She returned the smile brightly and hurried away, already calculating the time until the rider would likely arrive.

* * *

The gate was open when she arrived, and the gatekeeper gave her a nod, stepping into the shadows of the wall. She crossed her arms over her chest, tugging her cloak tighter about her. She was still wearing the same short-sleeved dress as she had been when she first caught sight of the snow from the window of her bedroom; she hadn't found the time to change yet.

She exhaled, the steam from her breath mingling with the falling snow, and the steady noise of hoofbeats reached her ears. A rider emerged from the snow, white caught in her green cloak and hair streaming free behind her, the brightest red Eowyn had ever seen, and it took her a few seconds to realize that the rider was riding without a saddle and harness.

"Greetings." The rider swung her horse about and it danced to a stop, blowing out a cloud of steam from its red-rimmed nostrils. She stared down at Eowyn, who only came up to the horse's shoulder.

"Welcome to Edoras," she said smoothly, offering the elf––for that was what she was, clearly––a small smile. There was snow caught in the elf's hair, white on red. "I am King Theoden's niece, Eowyn. Would you share our bread and fire for the night?"

The elf seemed to consider this, then swung one leg over the saddle and landed lightly in front of her. She still towered a full head over Eowyn, but when she smiled down at her it was kind and relieved.

"I would greatly appreciate that," she replied, voice low. "I am Tauriel, of Mirkwood." She tangled a hand in her horse's mane, patting its neck, and added, "Would you happen to have a stable for Sirdal here?"

"Of course," Eowyn laughed. "This is Rohan, after all, and we are the Riders. Would you follow me?" She started across the courtyard, towards the stables, and heard Tauriel's soft voice as she urged her horse over the cobblestones.

* * *

"What brings you to Rohan, Tauriel?" she asked after they had both eaten, alone in the king's great feasting hall but for the off-duty guards at the other end of the room. Outside, the soft flurries of earlier had morphed into a howling wind that battered at the windows, blowing a wall of white against them, rattling the panes.

Her guest paused before answering, wiping her mouth with the corner of her napkin. "A personal journey," she replied, finally, meeting Eowyn's eyes. "I am a guard, you see, and every now and then the King decides he will let us free to do whatever it is we want. It has been many years since I did so, and the ones I left behind are more than capable. I hoped to bring back news of the southern lands to him, though he sometimes does not care for much more than his own realm."

"A good king takes care of their own realm first," Eowyn noted, then hastily added: "Or so I have heard."

"True." Tauriel smiled at her, and Eowyn felt a faint thrill––here she was, with an elf all to herself in her uncle's halls. She could ask her anything.

She leaned across the table, eyes alight, and said, "Do you think you could tell me about Mirkwood?"

Tauriel raised an eyebrow. "Mirkwood? Is––is there anything in particular you wanted to know?"

"Anything." She was willing to listen to anything at all about a realm other than her own––Rohan was beautiful, but she yearned to hear of other places, beyond this green horizon, and dusty pictures in the king's old books did not capture the true essence of any place.

The elf leaned back, the melted snow in her hair glimmering in the firelight like tiny, flaming jewels, and Eowyn had to clench her hands to resist the oddest urge to brush them away, run her hands through Tauriel's hair. "Let's see. Mirkwood is a vast kingdom, and once it was part of a greater forest that spread across a great section of this side of the Misty Mountains. It is said that once you could walk from Galadriel's halls to the northernmost reaches of Mirkwood only on the branches of trees…"

Eowyn watched, enraptured, and Tauriel continued to speak, eyes fixed on something far away, seeing something other than the wooden walls of Meduseld.

* * *

"How long will you be staying?" she asked, standing in the doorway of the room she had had prepared for their guest, and Tauriel responded with a lazy shrug, tossing her cloak into the corner of the room.

"Until the weather is clear enough for travel. I have no wish to ride on in a blizzard, after all."

Eowyn nodded. "You are welcome to stay as long as you need." And perhaps they could talk again, later, for as long as Tauriel had the patience for––Eowyn did not think she would ever tire of hearing the elf speak of faraway places (or even tire of simply hearing her speak, no matter what the subject, because everything about her voice was captivating).

Tauriel smiled at her, and nodded. "I thank you, Eowyn."

She closed the door behind her as softly as she could and stood there for a few long seconds, fingers pressed to her mouth, wondering why her heart was beating so quickly.

* * *

"So. What do you wish to do today?"

Tauriel paused in her demolishment of the breakfast Eowyn had rounded up for her (the elf had slept until midmorning and had promptly eaten through seemingly half the larder––funny, when half the stories she had always heard of about elves had them as immortal, glowing beings that _never_ did such mundane things as eat and drink and sleep). "Whatever _you_ want to do, my host."

Eowyn brightened visibly. "Shall I take you upstairs and show you the court? I mean, you'll probably think it terribly boring after your own kingdom, I've heard that elven kings have the most magnificent––"

Tauriel reached across the table and wrapped her long fingers around Eowyn's hand, effectively silencing her. "I would be happy to see whatever you wish to show me."

* * *

In the days that followed, Eowyn learned more of the lands beyond her own than she had ever dreamed of. In return, she showed Tauriel the entirety of Meduseld, telling her all the old tales of their people (Eorl the Young, and all the rest), feeling that soft thrill every time she succeeded in capturing the elf's attention with nothing more than her words.

Even once the snowstorm passed, Tauriel lingered, seeming utterly unwilling to move on. Eowyn was perfectly fine with this. There was a captivating quality to the elf, and beside that––she had never found it so easy to simply _speak_ with someone.

And yet still, time passed too quickly (always), and there came a time of winter sun when Tauriel began looking eastwards, a restless quality entering her every movement, and Eowyn knew the happiness was over.

"You'll come and visit, won't you?" she asked, standing in the same courtyard she had met the elf in, arms wrapped around her body, breath fogging the crystal air. _You'll come back to me,_ she wanted to say, but wasn't sure Tauriel would take it the right way.

The elf smiled down at her, unbound hair caught by the whistling wind and whipping out behind her in a stream of red. "For as long as I can, next time. I promise, Eowyn." She hesitated, then wrapped her arms around Eowyn, pulling her close.

"I enjoyed my time with you," she whispered, breath hot against Eowyn's ear, and she shivered, suddenly no longer cold.

She watched Tauriel swing one leg up and over her horse, closed her eyes as the hoofbeats faded.

_I'll be waiting for you, Tauriel._


End file.

Hobbit, Lord of the Rings, Friendship, Romance